


Vargr

by KatWylder



Series: Úlfheðinn [4]
Category: BattleTech, BattleTech: MechWarrior, MechWarrior
Genre: Gen, Post-Clan Invasion, Science Fiction, mercenary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:43:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatWylder/pseuds/KatWylder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have more questions?” Matthew asked, wearily.<br/>He had many. When did you leave Bloody Steel? And why? Does anyone know where you are? For the moment, he kept those questions to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vargr

**Author's Note:**

> (Best read after [Úlfheðinn - Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5252402).)

**Vargr**

 

“ _...The outcast from society who roams the forests, the like of wolves, and with them to be hunted down and slain.”_

— _R. G. Finch_

 

 

“So, the one robot turns to the other and says, 'I dunno. You had it, last!'”

Ace looked into the beer in his right hand, watching bubbles rise through the amber liquid, and thought that he had probably had enough for the night. Opening his left hand slowly, he looked down at the dog tags he held. He took another drink.

“What, not even a chuckle?” Tessa leaned into his field of view, long twists cascading over bare, brown shoulders. She furrowed her brow and put a hand on his, gently directing the beer toward the coffee table.

“Sorry.” He put the bottle down and clutched the dog tags tighter. His fingers brushed over the embossing, and edges of the tags bit into his palm. “Sorry, I just...”

She stood, crossed the distance between them with one long stride, and sat down on the bed next to him. “It's okay.” Her voice was a little flat, but he knew she meant it. Then, in a more chipper tone, she asked, “Want to head round to the pub?”

“Since when do we have a pub?”

“ _Allora,_ it's more like a couple trid screens and a few cases of booze in the mess hall...”

“I'll pass.”

“Come on. It's game night, remember? Leitnerton U. versus McKenzy!” She grinned and tossed his jacket to him, then pulled on her own. “Preeti put fifty C-Bills on Leitnerton. I want to see her face when they get stomped.”

Ace shook his head and set the jacket aside. “You go on.”

He ran his fingers back through his hair, noting that it had become rather greasy and he really ought to wash it. The blond was probably growing out by now, as well. _Do it tomorrow,_ he told himself. _And shave._

“Don't tell me you're going to miss the match.”

“I'll watch it here.”

“It would be good for you to get out.”

For a moment, he considered it. Then guilt oozed into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was here, safe and unharmed. Alive. It wasn't fair that barely a week had passed since the funeral, and everyone was just going about their lives as if nothing had happened.

“Ace.” Her tone grew more serious. “You haven't left this flat in two days. You need to get out. It doesn't have to be to the pub, just—somewhere.” She clasped her hand over his. “Come on. We'll go down to the corner, get some shawarma, and be back in time for the game.”

He pulled away from her and slumped back against the wall, drawing one knee up to his chest. “I'd rather not. It's miserable out,” he said. “All cold and mizzling.”

“Then we'll order something.”

“I already ate.”

She snorted and gestured expansively to the empty beer bottles, bread crusts, and half-eaten cups of instant noodles strewn about the room. “When is the last time you had _real_ food?”

Ace shrugged lamely and turned away from her, sinking further into the corner. “I'm just not hungry.”

“ _Mio cuore_...” She reached out and caressed his cheek.

“Don't start with that,” he said, sharper than he meant.

Tessa withdrew her hand, and the bed shifted as she sat up quickly.

“Start with _what?_ What do you mean by that?” The angry-hurt voice came on.

“Nothing!” he said hurriedly. “Sorry.”

“No, tell me. What do you mean?” He could feel her staring at him.

“I know you're trying to be sweet, but... I just— That's not what I want, right now.”

She made a _tch_ sort of noise and stood up. “Then what _do_ you want?”

“...I don't know.”

“I don't understand why you're being so stubborn about this. You were fine the other day.”

He had been. He had gone with Tessa and the rest of Gamma lance to one of the local bars, where they had all laughed and joked and had a very good time getting completely laggered. He had been fine. Then the drinks and the company went away, and he woke up to find that his insides were crumbling and a lot of unpleasant emotions were letting themselves out through his tear ducts.

The following day, all of those nasty feelings like sadness, which he was sure he wouldn't miss, were gone. Unfortunately, any happiness seemed to have left, as well. The only thing he still had in him was guilt and tiredness. Or perhaps it was guilt alone, and the weight of it had sapped all his energy.

Tessa was standing in front of him, trying to get him to look her in the eye. Reluctantly, he glanced up and met her gaze.

“Ace.”

“What?”

“Can you just... talk to me?”

He gave a derisive snort and scowled, which meant that there must be a little anger left, too. “What the fuck do you want me to say?”

She glowered back, but hesitated before she spoke. “Don't get snippy,” she said evenly. Her dark eyes were sharp with anger, but he could tell she had bitten back whatever she first intended to say. “I'm trying to help you.”

“What makes you think I want your help?” He tucked the dog tags into his shirt pocket, and stood. “You just... You always do this! Every bloody time! You think you make things better by pretending they _are_ better. You think that if you just put on a big smile and whistle a cheery tune, everything will be okay, but it won't!”

“M-maybe not, but it's something!” she stammered angrily. “What's _your_ plan? Sit here and wallow in misery for the rest of your life? That looks like it's really doing you favors.”

“You think that's what I'm doing? You think I fucking want this?! Do you know what I want?” He was shouting now, against his own intentions. “I want my friend back!”

“Well, that's not going to happen!”

They both went silent.

 

 

 

He couldn't remember the rest of the conversation. The argument. _The fight._ Like a drunken brawl, the memory of it came back as a blur, and he knew things would start to hurt very badly just as soon as the alcohol wore off. They'd had tiffs before. Plenty of them. Somehow, he and Tessa always managed to patch things up. None of their prior arguments had ever felt so... fatal.

Ace pulled the collar of his jacket closer around his neck, and hugged himself for warmth as he tromped across the wet tarmac. It was still raining, though barely, and just cold enough to make him shiver every time water trickled down the back of his neck. There was a faint jingle as he did so, the dog tags clinking softly in his pocket. Now, he walked almost on autopilot, but looked down every so often to avoid the really deep puddles. After everything else that had happened, he didn't think he could withstand the insult of wet socks.

Regret and the haze of drink filled his head, turning his thoughts back on themselves like a miserable ouroboros. He had no plan on where to go, but his feet must have had some idea. Before he knew it, he was standing at the door of the main office. The metal plaque across it read, “Cpt. Leo Sutton, C.O.” Ace stared at it a moment, until recalling that he was still being rained upon, and moved under the eaves.

The warmth of the small office and the chatter of a trid screen greeted him first as he stepped through the door. He stood in the threshold, dripping, and shrugged out of his jacket. On the other side of a heavy Furillan oak desk, sat the captain—feet up, shoes off, half-reclined in his office chair, and dividing his attention between a bottle of beer, a plate of onion rings, and a Solaris match. Hearing him enter, the man looked up, and turned around in his seat.

“You look like shit.”

Ace scowled. It was a fair appraisal. “Thanks, Onkel.”

Leo gave him a wry grin, set down his food, and reached into the nearby refrigerator for another beer. He slid it across the smooth desk. “Here. I'm guessing you need it.”

He reached for it, hesitated half a second, then grabbed the bottle and flopped down in the empty chair across from the captain. To hell with moderation.

His uncle's face worked into an expression midway between concern and amusement. The overall shape was much like his own, though Leo's jaw was squarer and his eyes more deeply-set under thick brows. Ace wondered if his hair would grey into the same ashy color, if he would get the same crow's feet and laugh-lines when he became that age.

“Surprised you're not watching the game with the others,” Leo said.

“I, uh... I'm not feeling too social, right now.”

“Oh, so you decided to grace _me_ with your presence.”

Ace shrugged stiffly. “Eh, even a crotchety old git like you probably needs some company, once in awhile.”

Leo snorted. “I just gave you a drink.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“ _Old_ ,” he muttered to himself, disbelieving. “I'm not old. And I'm hardly crotchety at all.”

Ace smiled a little at that, and Leo grinned back. They both turned their attention to the game, watching a _Silver Fox_ and a _Tsunami_ slug it out in a half-collapsed factory. All too soon, however, the beer was gone and the match had ended. He turned the empty bottle around in his hands.

“Still feelin' a bit rough about things?” Leo asked, gently.

“...It just...” Ace looked down. “ _Hurts_.”

Leo sighed and nodded. “I know. It always does when you lose someone.” He jerked his head towards to door. “Go spend the night with your bird. That'll take your mind off it.”

Ace winced. “I don't... I don't think she wants to see me, right now. Or ever.”

“Can't be as bad as all that, now, can it?” Leo gave him a sympathetic smile. “I'm sure you'll smooth things out.”

He hesitated. “Not this time. I, erm... I fucked up.”

That was what it always came down to, it seemed. His brain jumped the rails from one train of thought to the next. One moment he was standing in his flat, shouting at Tessa, watching tears roll down her umber cheeks as she shouted back, and the next moment, he was in the jungle, pushing his _Panther's_ fusion engine for every watt of power it could give him. He was running, crashing, stumbling through the trees and the brush, with his heart in his throat and the sound of autocannon fire ringing in his ears. And he was alone.

“I never should have listened to him,” he said, suddenly. “Bloody stupid, _stubborn_ bastard! Shouldn't have listened to him. I should've stayed.” Ace buried his head in his hands.

“Then you'd _both_ be dead.”

“Yeah,” he replied, choking down a sob.

“And what good would that have done?” Leo walked around to the other side of the desk, and tapped his nephew in the shin with the toe of his boot. “Look at me.”

Hesitantly, he glanced up through his fingers.

“I'm sorry we lost him. I really am. But Sigurd knew what he was doing. I'm just relieved the rest of the lance made it out. Especially you, lad.” He grimaced briefly, deepening the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and gave a forced chuckle. “D'you have any idea what your mum would do to me if anything ever happened to you? Between you and me, I'm more afraid of her than any Clanner.”

“Don't laugh.”

“Oh, come now, I'm just trying to cheer you up a bit.”

“Well, it's not fucking funny!” He lifted his head and glowered. “This is your fault, anyway.”

The captain's face went blank. “My fault?”

“If we'd gone back straight away—if we hadn't waited _two_ _fucking_ _weeks_ —he might still be alive! I just... I don't understand why you wouldn't send a search earlier.”

“And lose _more_ people? We've already had this discussion.”

“Well, if we'd gone in with two lances to start, we wouldn't have lost anyone at all. But, no! 'It's just light resistance.'”

“We got bad intel. It's shitty, but it happens. That's just _life_ ,” said Leo. “It isn't my fault the DCMS downplayed the bandits' numbers.”

“You honestly trusted them? You trusted the fucking Dracs to be straight with a merc outfit? That's like... like going to a mouse convention—like a mouse going to a cat convention! Inoue warned you they'd try to screw us over. She fucking warned you!”

A flush of anger began to color the older man's face. “You still have a lot to learn about this business, Matthew.”

He bristled. Leo never called him that. “Is that what this is all about?” Ace demanded, standing. “Business? You slacked off on the recon to... to cut costs!”

“It's not that simple,” Leo replied.

A tide of anger washed over him. Furious, he thrust both hands out and shoved the captain back. Leo stumbled and slipped. There was a very loud _thwack_ , and suddenly, the man was on the ground.

The anger immediately gave way to panic.

“Shit!” Ace gasped, and scrambled over to him. “Are you okay, Onkel? I didn't mean—”

He grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself as he knelt beside the captain, but immediately pulled his hand away when he touched something wet. Blood. He looked at his hand, then looked at the desk. Slowly, the circuit completed itself and he looked down at Leo.

Blood was oozing from the back of his head, and his eyes were unfocused. His breathing, too, was strange—uneven and shallow. Ace stared for a moment, bewildered.

Head trauma. What the hell was he supposed to do for head trauma?

His own heartbeat began pounding in his ears, and the room suddenly became much smaller than he recalled. Wild-eyed, Ace looked around for a something, anything, to help. His jacket. He grabbed it, ran back to over to Leo's side, and pressed it to the back of the man's head to stop the bleeding. Tears began welling at the corners of his eyes.

_Please be okay. Please be okay. Please..._

Still pleading silently, he grabbed the communicator off Leo's desk and hailed the base medic, Dr. Patil. Through his panic, he quickly gave the doctor what information he could. Patil promised to be over within five minutes, assuring him with typical coolness that she would do everything she could.

“Just stay with the captain,” she instructed. “Call me again, if anything changes.”

Ace knelt down beside his uncle, again. Everything would be fine, he told himself. Dr. Patil would be here soon, and everything would be—

Leo's ragged breathing subsided. His eyes seemed blank, now. Fearfully, Ace reached out and pressed two fingers to the side of the man's neck. A faint pulse. No pulse. He withdrew his hand, and stared for a long moment at his uncle's body.

He had to leave.

Now.


End file.
